


It's a Wise Son

by vanillafluffy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Child of rape, Gen, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: For the prompt "Bucky Barnes meeting the adult child he'd fathered on a mission as the Winter Soldier". The title references the proverb, "It's a wise father who knows his own child"--obviously, that predates paternity tests!





	It's a Wise Son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



Somebody has eyes on him. That’s the first thing you learn, inside--to have eyes in the back of your head, if you want to survive.

Joey Arnetti scans the patrons of the shabby bar he’s ducked into, right off the bus into Grand Central from Ossining. Aha--tall, dark hair, looking right at him, not even bothering to hide it--a shiver runs down his back. It’s like looking in a mirror at the past.

If there’s another lesson he’s learned behind the walls, it’s never show fear--walk right up to what scares you and punch it in the face. He gives the little tilt of the head and dart of his eyes that means, _Come sit with me_.

The other man strolls over. Sits.

They study each other for a moment, and Joey hopes that fighting the guy won’t be necessary. He’s at least as ripped as Joey is, going on ten years younger, looking at the grey hairs he doesn’t have.

“I know who you are.” 

The younger guy smiles. Good, white teeth--so he doesn’t smoke, meaning his wind is gonna be better than Joey’s, too. Another reason not to fight him. “I doubt that.”

“Hey, I ain’t surprised I got a kid brother. I figure the old bastard got around.”

“Which old bastard would that be?”

“I’m talking about the fucker that raped my ma back in 1975.”

The kid goes still, looking older than the thirty-something his face wears. “ _That_ bastard,” he acknowleges. “Yeah. I know who you mean.”

“Do you? Where is he now?”

“He’s dead.” The kid smiles a little. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” There’s that shiver again. Pretty he may be, but the kid has something scary about him. He’s done time himself, Joey would bet large on it.

“What were you in for?”

“Ah, wrong place, wrong time--I was in the chop shop when it got busted.” It’s no magic trick--Joey’s got the standard convict haircut, too short for anyone to get ahold of in a fight, and his duffel is under the table. “Before that, there was a really sweet sports car that kind of belonged to someone else….” He smirks. “You know how it is. I can tell you done some time yourself.”

For the first time, the kid rests both hands on the table. The left one has shiny metal fingers at the end of it, and Joey can’t help it, he gawks. How did he not notice that when the guy sat down?

“I’ve been imprisoned,” nods younger-Joey, blue eyes going scary again. “That’s how this happened.” He drums his fingers on the tabletop.

“What happened? Stabbed? Caught in a laundry mangle, what?”

“It doesn’t matter. Right now, you have more than I will ever have again.” He gives Joey’s hands a meaningful look. “And you still have more than _you_ will ever have again.

Joey’s brow clouds at the riddle. “Whatcha talking about?”

“I’m talking about a chance to turn your life around. Do you want to go straight or do you want to go back inside?”

“I don’t want to go back.” It’s the most honest thing Joey’s said in years. “I got two strikes against me. One more fuck-up, even spitting on the sidewalk, and they’re gonna put me under the jail. But there’s not exactly a lot of people lining up to hire ex-cons.”

The other man pulls out a phone that’s about half the size of the kind they had before Joey went in and starts tapping on the screen with his good hand. “What’s your name?”

“Joey Arnetti. You?”

“I’m JB. I know a guy who might be able to hook you up with a legit job. You know something about cars, I take it?”

The lump in Joey’s throat might be hope, although it tastes a lot like the sausage biscuit he had in the bus depot this morning. “Yeah, I aced Auto Shop in school, and I used to hang out at the corner garage when I was a kid, til the guy that ran it had a heart attack and retired. Then, I started boosting them for the guy that took over the place.” He stops, embarassed at telling his life story to this guy he barely knows, brother or not.

JB nods. He’s rolled up his sleeves, now he presses something just below his elbow, and a wedge-shaped section of his forearm pops open. Joey stares, wide-eyed, but JB just extracts a pen and copies something from his phone to the back of one of the cardboard coasters that litters the table. He slides it over to Joey and puts the pen back into its secret compartment.

“Let me talk to the guy,” JB says. “You give him a call tomorrow. Okay? He’s a good guy. His name is Jarvis.”

…


End file.
